


Who Will Take Me to the Ball

by surefireshore



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Modern Era, but bc they're trying to be romantic not bc they're dumbasses which they also are but separately, god i cant believe i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surefireshore/pseuds/surefireshore
Summary: Enjolras comes home one day with news of a job offer that effectively ends their relationship, unless one of them can figure out a way around it.Or, in which both boys learn a different skill very quick.(This is an AU, but what kind of AU it is is the joke so I'm not gonna tell you up front, but it is in the end notes.)
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 59
Collections: 2020 Same-Prompt Fic Challenge





	Who Will Take Me to the Ball

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merelydovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/gifts).



> The idea was originally Dove's, to whom this fic is gifted. 
> 
> That opening clip of the John Mulaney & the Sack Lunch Bunch where the kid asks if this is ironic and Mulaney responds, “honestly, if this doesn’t turn out great, I think we should all be like ‘Oh, it was ironic’ and then people will be like ‘Oh, that’s hilarious.’ But if it turns out really good, we’ll be like ‘oh, thank you we worked really hard’”? That’s me rn.
> 
> Also I do lots of hand-waving about how things work in the real world, especially about non-profit hiring practices and how quick ppl can learn things. Just go with it we’re here for fun, not facts

“Oh,” Grantaire says, dropping down onto the barstool behind him.

“I know,” Enjolras replies.

“Do you . . . “ Grantaire clears his throat. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

Enjolras’ sad eyes search Grantaire’s until he says, “It’s a three-year contract.”

This knocks the breath out of Grantaire. “ _Oh.”_

Enjolras’s brow furrows, and Grantaire finds himself blinking and clearing his throat to hold back the tears.

“Please don’t cry, Grantaire,” Enjolras starts, stepping forward to stand between Grantaire’s legs and placing his hands gently over his hips. “You’re just . . . You’re a nice person, and you’re fun, and you’re smart. And these past eight months have been . . . .”

Grantaire refuses to look Enjolras in the face, but he sees his throat move like he’s swallowing. Enjolras picks up Grantaire’s hand and places it over his heart. This only makes it so Grantaire has to try harder to blink away his tears. He decides not to try to feel Enjolras’ heart beat.

“You’ve been so good to me,” Enjolras continues, and his voice is just so goddamn earnest. “And I’m so glad we finally sorted out our shit. Our time together has been some of the happiest months of my life, but I have to do this.”

“I know,” Grantaire chokes out.

“I applied before we happened.”

“I know,” Grantaire whispers.

About eight months ago, after years of the two of them picking at each other’s nerves and intentionally starting very loud and heated debates, their friends had finally convinced Grantaire and Enjolras to sit down and have a talk about feelings. They’d walked out of that café holding hands, in a committed relationship, having both hesitantly confessed their love for each other. Well. Enjolras had hesitantly confessed. After hearing it, Grantaire’s face had promptly split into a grin and he nearly shouted, “What? Fuck, I love you, too!” And they’d been making it work since then.

But it wasn’t easy. They still fought. Grantaire still pissed Enjolras off with his loud rambling distractions at meetings and made him nervous with his drinking. Enjolras still set Grantaire on edge with his over-optimism and worried him with his reckless idealism. All that sometimes led to things getting rocky, and they both still had trouble honestly expressing what they were thinking and feeling to each other. There was no way they would survive a three-year stretch of long-distance and they both knew it.

And yet, Grantaire wants to make it last so badly. He finally looks at Enjolras. His jaw is clenched, his eyes squeezed shut. At Grantaire’s sides, his hands had curled into fists in Grantaire’s shirt.

When he speaks, Grantaire sees a flicker of that fearless and determined revolutionary in the lines of his face. “I must go into the world and do noble things for the good of all. That’s always been my plan. That’s always been my goal. And to get a chance to do it with UNICEF is . . . once-in-a-lifetime. I could do so much good work.”

“I know,” Grantaire repeats, then he lights up with an idea. “Hey! Didn’t you mention they let you request certain people to add to your team? I could . . . I dunno, I have so many fucking hobbies, surely one of them is useful.”

Enjolras opens his eyes, but they look broken. “You can’t come because you don’t speak French. It’s their only requirement for additional personnel in this region.”

Just like that, the light Grantaire had found was gone again. “Oh. There’s no way I could just not work for three years, I have to support my sisters.”

“I know.”

Then, of course, Grantaire’s mind settles on the most petty shit. The Annual Regency Reenactment Ball his hometown holds on the anniversary of its founding, on February 16th, 1818. Even though he lives hours away now, Grantaire has never missed a year, and he can’t start now. This year is the 200th anniversary and his older sister is on the planning committee. As with every year, plus ones are required. “But if you leave, Enjolras, who will take me to the ball?”

Something breaks in Enjolras’ expression, but Grantaire keeps going before he can speak, first repeating the question to himself. “Who’s gonna take me to the ball if not Enolras? I expected to go with you, so I told everyone who asked I already had a plus one. I’ve already got my new Regency suit finished, and I replaced the shoes that finally gave out last year. Who will take me to the ball, now?”

“I expected you’d still go with Jehan?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “No, they’re bringing Courfeyrac. He’s already bought a top hat so there’s no way he wants to bow out now.”

“Well, technically, I don’t leave until March, but . . . “

He doesn’t finish that sentence and Grantaire doesn’t want him too. No point keeping up a charade through the holidays if they know they’ll have to end it shortly after Valentine’s Day anyway.

“I understand,” Grantaire says.

“I should, um . . . stay with Combeferre.”

Grantaire’s heart breaks. Yes, it was given from the moment Enjolras said he was leaving that they would break up, but to move out immediately? Grantaire didn’t know if he was ready.

“Please don’t go yet,” he asks.

Enjolras meets his eyes. “I must. It’s not fair to either of us to—” He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, at a loss for words. “—delay the inevitable.”

Grantaire breaks eye contact again and stares at a spot on the floor.

Enjolras keeps his grasp firm to Grantaire’s sweater, but takes a step back. Grantaire grabs one of Enjolras’ hands where it is and cups his face with the other.

He’s trying to think of something to say, some way to say he’s not ready for this to end, when Enjolras reads the plea in his eyes and repeats, “I must.”

Long after Enjolras has left that evening, with most of his essentials and an agreement to come back for the rest when Grantaire isn’t there, those words echo in Grantaire’s head.

_Don’t go. I must._

_Don’t. Must._

_Don’t._

_Don’t._

_Must._

_Must._

As he falls asleep, he supposes that it was always bound to end this way anyway, with Enjolras moving on and him left to pick up the pieces.

\--

That idea reinforces itself in Grantaire’s mind over the next few days, and by the time the last of Enjolras’ things are in Combeferre’s spare bedroom, he’s almost completely convinced of it.

Except. Enjolras is not doing a very good job of acting like he’s moving on. He keeps lingering when he passes things to Grantaire at meetings and events. He says inflammatory things they’ve already discussed that will set Grantaire off and keep their conversation going longer. When the group hangs out socially, it seems like Enjolras is never more than two arm’s lengths away.

About three weeks after their last discussion in the kitchen, Grantaire finally confronts him. It’s at the end of the meeting. Enjolras had said, not one, but three things in a row he should’ve known Grantaire wouldn’t be able to let go. They’d finish one argument and Enjolras would start another. It’s a wonder Combeferre didn’t take over the meeting.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says as the last of their friends have left.

Enjolras turns to look at him. He looks guilty.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Grantaire can’t decide if the confirmation that Enjolras knows what he’s doing and keeps doing it makes him feel better or worse.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras continues. “I know I said we should stop seeing each other, and I really do believe this is best in the long run, or—. No, fuck it, I don’t believe that at all.” He stands up straight and Grantaire sees all the radiance he’d first fallen in love with.

Enjolras looks him straight in the eye and Grantaire is frozen.

“I fucking miss you,” Enjolras says. “I keep waking up and rolling over expecting you to be there and you’re not, and when I talk to Combeferre about the news in the morning we just agree on everything. I miss seeing your face right after your first sip of coffee, I miss you apologizing for no reason when I get home and your stuff is spread out all over the table. I miss—”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire cuts him off. He doesn’t need to hear all this.

Enjolras looks sheepish. “What if there’s something we haven’t thought of?” He laughs nervously. “I spend all my free hours trying to find a way around it, but I—"

Grantaire sighs. His voice is calm, but his head is not. “It’s been three weeks, Enjolras. If there was something we would’ve thought about it by now. I . . . it’s . . . .” He looks at the floor. “You’re going to be gone for three years, and I’m going to be here. I still can’t come with you, Enjolras. UNICEF asks for one qualification, and I don’t have it.” He curses the high school guidance counselor that suggested he take Spanish. If only he knew French, he’s sure they could make this work.

When Grantaire moves his gaze back to Enjolras, he looks completely defeated.

“I should go.” Grantaire turns to leave, then he gets an idea and turns around. Enjolras hasn’t moved.

“Hey, when do you need to give them a final list for your team?”

“Deadline for new members isn’t until January 15th,” Enjolras replies with a question in his voice. “Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head to indicate he won’t answer and walks out the door. As the latch clicks shut, Enjolras is left looking confused and dumbfounded.

In the hall, Grantaire pulls out his phone and searches “how long does it take to learn a language”.

\--

Once they get back from the Thanksgiving holidays two weeks later, Enjolras and Grantaire seem to have come to a tentative agreement. All of Les Amis feel like they’re walking on eggshells whenever the two of them so much as look at each other, but there’s no more goading and no more made-up excuses to be close.

By some magic of party planning, Cosette manages to make their Christmas party fun and light-hearted in spite of the tension settling in the room. She makes just enough of a big deal about this being their last Christmas together for a while. Courfeyrac and Combeferre have already agreed to go with Enjolras and have come to agreements with UNICEF on their own contracts.

Grantaire does his best to be happy for them. In the meantime, he’s been keeping a pretty big secret from that part of the group, and he’s been trusting the others to do the same.

He’s been learning French. UNICEF requires all candidates traveling to the region pass a proficiency test, and Grantaire has been studying. He is on three different language learning apps. He’s been doing flashcards on his breaks at work. He’s joined some online groups for practice. And he’s coming close. He’s set to take the test on December 29th. If he fails, he can do it again on January 10th. If he fails again, well . . . that’s why he isn’t telling Enjolras.

He can’t stand the idea of seeing the disappointment in his eyes when he hears Grantaire failed. So it’ll be a surprise instead, Grantaire reasons, and hopefully by that time it’ll still be a good one.

\--

He gets the e-mail with his results on January 3rd and opens it before he can think twice. When the screen loads, all the weight lifts from his chest. He has passed. His shoes are on and he’s out the door in minutes, on the way to Combeferre’s.

As he walks, his stomach starts twisting in knots. He feels like an idiot for not telling Enjolras, not even asking Enjolras if he’d actually want him on his team. What skills, feasibly, could Grantaire really bring to their team? He’d be a drain on UNICEF’s resources and he’d hold the trio back.

By the time he’s waiting at their front door, he’s convinced himself this was a terrible idea. But he’s already knocked.

Enjolras opens the door and his eyes widen. “Grantaire, what . . . ?”

“Um.” Grantaire shuffles on his feet.

“Come in. Combeferre just went to the store, if you’re looking for him?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay.”

Enjolras guides him into the living room and takes a seat. Grantaire sits as far from him as he can on the couch, determined to keep space between him. Grantaire is only slightly turned toward Enjolras, but Enjolras has one leg folded under him on the couch so he can face Grantaire directly.

“Is everything okay?” Enjolras asks.

“Well, do you remember when we were talking about finding ways around, um, breaking up?”

All at once, Enjolras looks hesitant, sad, and afraid. It does nothing to encourage Grantaire to continue, but his heart tells him he must.

“Well. If we could find a way to make it work, specifically to make me coming with you work, would you still be . . . amenable?”

All the breath in Enjolras’ lungs leaves him. “Of course,” he replies. “Of course I would, but . . . I still haven’t thought of anything.”

Grantaire still feels hesitant about saying the next bit, so he stalls. “Have you been thinking about it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says immediately, staring straight into Grantaire’s eyes. As he starts to talk again, his gaze wanders and his eyes flit about the room, as if the answer to their problem might be on Combeferre’s bookshelf. “Yes, all the time. But everything seems like it’s . . . impossible on this timeframe or too much to ask of you or not economically feasible, and I just . . . . I’ve got nothing.”

“Enjolras.” Grantaire’s interruption brings Enjolras’ gaze back to him. “I’ve learned French.”

A smile spreads across Enjolras’ whole face, and the light of it warms Grantaire’s heart. He gives a hesitant smile in return.

“You have?” Enjolras asks.

“Mais, oui. Je suis prêt à te rejoindre.” His voice and his accent are only slightly hesitant as he unlocks his phone to the email with his certificate and hands it to Enjolras.

“Oui, oui, mon ami,” Enjolras confirms, then Grantaire’s arms are full of Enjolras. The scent of his shampoo is in Grantaire’s nose again, the warmth of his skin under his hands. “I always knew you could. I really hoped you would, but I didn’t want to ask because it’s so much work and I wanted to make sure you had an out.”

“I don’t need an out from you, Enjolras.”

Enjolras sits back and gives a small grin. “I know, but it’s a big ask. Both learning a language and then uprooting yourself for three years.”

“Pff,” Grantaire blows it off and quotes, “once you stop learning, you start dying. And now I have learned French. This is just an exercise in personal growth.”

Enjolras chuckles warmly then takes both of Grantaire’s hands. “Now, I have a question for you,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“Now can we go into the world and do noble things for the good of all together?”

Grantaire grins and rests his hand on Enjolras’ cheek. “I would like nothing more.”

They take a moment to revel in each other’s gazes before Enjolras continues. “UNICEF just assigned our placement within the country, and I actually will need a Spanish language translator given how close we’ll be to the border.”

“Ah, perfecto,” Grantaire replies. “Maybe my high school guidance counselor wasn’t useless after all. I would be happy to accompany you in that capacity, and of course assist in any other way I can.”

Enjolras pulls him in for a kiss, their first kiss in months, and Grantaire feels like he could fly.

When they pull apart, he puts on a mock-serious face, having just remembered something. “Now, I have a question for you as well.”

“Okay, please continue.”

“Enjolras, will you take me to the ball?”

Enjolras’ face drops. After a moment of silence lingers and Grantaire’s smile starts to fade, he says, “I can’t dance.”

“You can’t?!” Grantaire had assumed Enjolras’ parents had forced him into etiquette school as a teenager, where he would’ve learned at least to waltz. He has no backup plan. And all the uppity members of the historical society will pester his sister for months if he doesn’t dance with his partner.

“No,” Enjolras whispers, but Grantaire is no longer listening. His mind is racing in panic, trying to figure out how he is going to find a plus one and what he’ll say to his sister if he can’t.

“Oh, shit,” Grantaire says. “I must go. I need to make some calls and talk to my sister.”

“Please don’t go,” Enjolras grabs his wrist, but Grantaire doesn’t see his expression. He doesn’t even look.

He swipes his phone back up, but he doesn’t pull his arm from Enjolras’ grip. “I must.”

“Wait, don’t go! I can just ta—”

“I must,” Grantarie repeats more forcefully and wrenches his arm from Enjolras. He rushes out of the apartment. As he runs down the steps of the apartment building, those same damn words echo through his mind.

_Don’t._

_Must._

_Don’t._

_Don’t._

_Must._

_Must._

He curses himself for repeating that pattern, for forgetting to think about his sister’s needs, and for being so stupid as to think he might’ve fixed both his big problems.

\--

On the last day of January, he still hasn’t found someone willing and able to accompany him to the ball. Of course, learning French and getting approved by UNICEF for the team had resolved the issue keeping him and Enjolras apart, so his actual plan did work. This was never about the ball, this was about him and Enjolras. But now he’s kicking himself for not making it a little bit more about the ball when he started working on the plan in November.

So he still had this thing nagging in the back of his mind. He’s in the middle of chopping potatoes for soup and, for the 6000th time, running through the list of people he knows who can waltz when there’s a knock at the door. He stops and stares in confusion. Enjolras said he’d be getting home right about now, but he should have a key. For a moment, Grantaire wonders if it could be someone other than Enjolras. But he’s not expecting a package and, really, who else knocks on people’s doors anymore?

He wipes his hands off on the kitchen towel on his shoulder and makes his way to the door.

As he opens it, he says “Did you forget your k—”

But Enjolras has already swept him into his arms and has taken the leading position in a waltz. With every three count, surprise and happiness well stronger in Grantaire’s chest. Though Enjolras’ form isn’t perfect, it’s close enough. He knows where his feet are going, and Grantaire feels comfortable and safe in his arms and following his lead.

By the end of the dance, Grantaire is absolutely flustered.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Grantaire, I’ve learned to dance.”

Grantaire has never seen him look so proud. All the happiness in his chest pours out in a laugh of pure mirth. “I can see that.” Refusing to step out of their position, Grantaire squeezes his hand and uses the one that was on his shoulder to pull Enjolras forward so that their foreheads touch. In doing so, he finally looks down and notices Enjolras’ outfit. He’s completely decked out in Regency wear. It’s not a perfect fit and would not hold up against a fashion historian’s scrutiny, but it suffices. Especially on the time frame Enjolras was working in.

“Oh, Enjolras, you got the clothes!”

“I did! Mostly Jehan, but Feuilly was kind enough to make some last-minute alterations to modern clothes so they’d pass.” Though Grantaire can’t see his face, he hears the pride and happiness in his tone. “That’s why I was later today than usual. I stopped by Feuilly’s to change.”

Grantaire looks up. “You rode the train like this?”

“I did.” He looks prouder than a kid at his 5th grade graduation for pulling this off.

Grantaire is still so baffled and delighted that he giggles. “And you couldn’t just tell me? Or open your own front door with your own key?”

Enjolras returns the wide smile. “I thought you would appreciate the drama.”

Grantaire’s laughter echoes against the walls, then he looks back down at the clothes and starts to ramble. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about this. It only takes a few sessions to learn the basics and either Courfeyrac or Jehan or Musichetta or like so many of our friends or even I could have taught you. Just because they couldn’t come doesn’t mean they couldn’t _help_. Oh my god, what was I thinking, I even talked to _Montparnasse_ —”

Enjolras silences Grantaire by caressing his face in a way that conveys both “shut up” and “I love you.” It works. Grantaire gapes.

“You were stressed,” Enjolras says. “It’s perfectly reasonable to overlook things when you’re stressed.”

Grantaire makes a face. “I mean, that’s a pretty big thing to overlook.”

Enjolras’s satisfied look turns fond. “Well, between the two of us, I’m confident we’ll always find a solution.”

Grantaire wraps him in a hug and both of them hold on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> DID YOU GET WHAT AU IT WAS it's [ Barbara Manatee AU based on Endangered Love from the Veggie Tales Silly Songs with Larry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpcf_qD3GW4)
> 
> ur welcome and im sorry
> 
> The timeframe in which Grantaire learns French is based on Josh Kaufman’s The First 20 Hours theory. I had to watch the TED talk on it for class or professional development or something. This is not a recommendation and I have no idea of it works, but I needed it for plot reasons. The basic tenet is that, while it takes 10,000 hours to develop mastery in a subject or skill, it only takes 20 to develop a basic working knowledge of that skill. Because of how brains work, this would probably not work for learning a language. A different guy named Steve Kaufman says it would take 480 hours to reach basic fluency, which is basically a full-time job for two months. Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is don’t lie to UNICEF and say you know French when you really don’t because you want to go into the world and do noble things for the good of all with your boyfriend.


End file.
